


Ruined

by eeyore9990



Series: For Want of a Gag (Reflex) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek, Dirty Talk, Implied First Time, M/M, dance club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek let the spinning lights lull him into a relaxed state, following various threads of electric blue until they all seemed to converge on one figure dancing in a loose, fluid sprawl of limbs in the middle of the dance floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruined

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovenhardt1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovenhardt1/gifts).



> For lovenhardt1, who tragically lost all the progress on a fic yesterday. A fic she's writing because I asked for it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, bb.

Derek leaned back on the barstool, accepting his beer from the bartender with a nod of thanks. The music thrummed through him, and he turned to watch the dance floor, a low-level irritation filling him. He still hadn’t gotten over the pack defiling his loft the previous year with their little "rave."

Shrugging those thoughts off, Derek let the spinning lights lull him into a relaxed state, following various threads of electric blue until they all seemed to converge on one figure dancing in a loose, fluid sprawl of limbs in the middle of the dance floor. The guy had a ridiculous shoulder to waist ratio, and those shoulders… Derek swallowed a mouthful of cold beer, trying to douse the heat that rose into his face with it. 

Those damn shoulders were a sin. Broad, muscular, and leading to the back of a long, lean neck that made Derek want to dig his teeth into the tendons the light was caressing. The guy’s arms were muscular but not bulky. It was the muscle of a person who worked hard, not the muscle of a person who pumped iron just to look good. 

He could feel himself getting hard just imagining what those arms could do. This guy would feel so good against him, his arms wrapping around Derek, holding him down. _Pinning_ him down. Making him take it. Making him beg to be filled up. To be fucked.

The guy’s dark hair was close-cropped in the back, and appeared, from what Derek could see, to be longer on top. As he watched, the person who was dancing with the guy reached up, running their hands through his hair. Derek growled low in his throat, eyes narrowing on the little bit of the guy’s dancing partner that he could see. He wanted to go up to them, rip the other guy away, rub himself all over the guy with the shoulders…and he didn’t even have a clue what he looked like from the front. 

Hell, he couldn’t even see below the midline of the guy’s back. He could fall apart from the waist down. But from the way he was moving, Derek seriously doubted that.

Finishing his beer in several long swallows, Derek kept his eye on the guy. Feeling sufficiently interested—more than, really—he dropped his empty bottle onto the bar, threw down a ten to pay for it, and then stood to thread his way to the middle of the dance floor.

The mingling scents of the club almost overwhelmed Derek, but he didn’t need to sniff the guy out. He zeroed in on him with nothing more than an occasional view of those broad shoulders appearing between the other swaying, sweaty dancers. 

When he was close enough, he slid in behind the guy, feeling out the situation. The guy melded back against him easily, still moving in rhythm with the song, but snugging himself into the curve of Derek’s body as well. 

The disgruntled look on the other guy’s face when the guy Derek had picked out moved so easily away from him and into Derek made Derek smirk and mouth _go away_. With a pissy little toss of his head, the guy did. 

Taking advantage of their semi-privacy, Derek slid his hand around the guy’s waist, pressing his palm flat to the lean hardness of the guy’s stomach, and pulling him tighter against Derek. This wasn’t really what he wanted—he’d rather their positions were reversed, but at least he could feel the coiled strength of this guy all along his body.

And he could bury his nose in the guy’s neck when he leaned it back onto Derek’s shoulder. Pull in a long breath of that spicy, sweet…vaguely _familiar_ scent. Derek jerked, thrown off his rhythm, and tried to see the guy’s face. Their positions made it almost impossible, but he could just make out the shape of his nose, and the wildly moving lights illuminated just enough for him to see the contrast of the moles on his guy’s pale skin.

Derek felt his entire universe swoop and dip as it rearranged itself. 

_He’d just spent the last ten minutes or so lusting after Stiles fucking Stilinski._

His body moved on auto-pilot as he tried to reconcile that idea with _years_ of too-sharp sarcasm and biting irritation. With blazing intelligence and fumbling insecurity badly hidden by brash confidence. With mutual life-saving and fierce bravery that Derek couldn’t help but acknowledge.

Fuck. Knowing it was Stiles he was dancing with only made the fantasy of being held down and fucked for hours _more_ appealing, not less.

As he was thinking that, Stiles began grinding his ass back against Derek’s hips, and turned his head just enough for his cheek to brush against Derek’s. 

"I have no gag reflex," he said, sounding absurdly pleased with himself.

Derek groaned, both at this new, ruinous knowledge, and at how loose and happy Stiles sounded. "You’re drunk, aren’t you?"

"F-fuck," Stiles breathed, somehow freezing and jerking in Derek’s arms all at once. " _Derek?!_ "

Spinning around, Stiles gawked at him, open-mouthed. Derek took the opportunity to really _look_ at Stiles, now that the blinders of long-familiarity had been stripped away. 

He was fucking gorgeous. That simple knowledge was a gut-punch that Derek _did not need_. His mouth, still hanging obscenely open, was cherry red and… and a perfect invitation for Derek to stick his dick in it. Which was not a problem because Stiles _had no gag reflex_ , apparently. Derek wanted to rip the throat out of whomever it was that had helped Stiles discover this thing about himself.

But more than his mouth, his entire _face_ was beautiful, in a purely masculine way. His eyes seemed to attract all the light in the club, almost glowing, were ringed by the most ridiculous lashes, and overhung by a pair of thick eyebrows that were currently pulled together in confusion.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles asked, not bothering to shout. He knew better than most how clearly Derek would be able to hear him.

"Looking," Derek said, shrugging. Noticing the angry glares they were getting from the other dancers bumping into them, Derek reached out and dragged Stiles back against him, slotting one thigh between Stiles' as he began moving them in a slow, sultry grind.

Stiles' eyes flared, then went heavy-lidded as he licked his lips. "Yeah, big guy?" he asked. "Whatcha lookin' for?"

Considering everything—the pack, their antagonistic relationship, Stiles' barely legal status, his fucking _father_ —Derek leaned forward and spoke directly into Stiles' ear. " _Not_ a drunken frat boy."

Turning his head just enough to put his lips against Derek's earlobe—his very fucking _sensitive_ earlobe—Stiles said, "Uh, _not_ a frat boy, thanks. Two things I don't pay for are sex and friends. Also, not drunk. If that, you know…" Stiles shrugged, swallowing hard enough that Derek could hear it.

Derek let his hand slide slowly down Stiles' back until it rested just over the curve of his ass, then tugged him in closer to Derek until their bodies were melded together. He knew Stiles would be able to feel the semi he was sporting; he just couldn't bring himself to care. Turning his head, he dragged the tip of his nose down the side of Stiles' neck, inhaling a lungful of his scent and then releasing it in a rumbling purr that he knew Stiles would be able to feel.

The breathless, "fuuuck," he heard was a sweet reward.

"Are you… is this… What is this?" Stiles asked, shifting his hips against Derek's and gripping his biceps with those ridiculously capable hands. 

Fuck, Derek was _ruined_.

"We're dancing," Derek murmured, teasing him with a hard brush of his stubble-darkened chin over the thin skin of Stiles' collar bone.

" _Jesus_ Christ." Stiles' dick nudged up against Derek's thigh and his fingers spasmed on Derek's arms. "You'd better not be fucking teasing me, you bastard."

Derek leaned his head back, one eyebrow arched.

"Sassy eyebrows or not, if you're fucking with me, I will hide a dead fish in your apartment. I'll surround it with a ring of mountain ash so you can't reach it to get rid of it. And I won't move it for at least a week, if not longer."

That was…frighteningly well thought out.

"How long have you been planning that particular punishment?" Derek asked, blinking in surprise.

"Long enough. So," Stiles rolled his hips against Derek's. "What are you really doing here?"

Derek shrugged, grinding back. "Told you. I'm looking."

Irritation flashed through Stiles' eyes, sending a curl of triumph through Derek. Oh yeah, this was dangerous. Like playing with fire, and Derek knew more than anyone how hideously devastating fire could be.

Before Stiles could make some snarky rejoinder, Derek leaned forward again, speaking just for Stiles. "I haven't been properly fucked in so long," he said, grinding forward on every other beat of the bass line of the thumping music. "I wanted to find someone who'd hold me down and just fuck the hell out of me."

" _God_ ," Stiles whined, almost climbing Derek's thigh. "How… I… You. Fuck. Yeah."

"That's what I was looking for," Derek said, then some demon on his shoulder made him add, "but then I saw you and…"

"Oh my god, fuck you very much."

"That was the plan, yeah."

Stiles' teeth gleamed in the light as he snapped them together close to Derek's mouth. "I am going to fucking _destroy_ your ass. Gonna hold you down, _suck_ you down, until you come. Then I'm going to put you on your _face_ and eat your ass until you're begging me for it."

_Check, please._

"I won't stop until you're _crying_ , and _then_ I'm going to open you nice and slow. Until you can't fucking _breathe_ , you want it so bad."

Derek fucking _trembled_ at the dark promise in Stiles' voice, in his eyes.

"And then I'm going to pin you to the bed and fuck you. It won't be slow and it won't be sweet. I am going to pound into you so hard that you choke on it. Because you can take it. You _need_ it, even, don't you? Need it to be brutal just to _feel_ it."

"Yeah," Derek breathed, closing his eyes and burying his face in Stiles' neck as he gave up on the concept of rhythm and just fucking _rutted_ against his thigh.

"I'm gonna fuck you until you can't breathe. Until your eyes roll up and you come so fucking hard you pass out. And when you wake up?"

Derek let out a ragged breath, already destroyed before they'd even begun.

_"I'm gonna start all over again."_

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhat inspired by [this gifset](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com/post/67455796562/jesus-christ-i-want-to-write-this-fic).


End file.
